One for the Books
by ResistPsychicDeath
Summary: "You don't exactly intend on seeing these types of things; they're just thrust into your face without giving you the slightest chance to look away." Written for the hilarious prompt: Glenn has a secret hoard of Yaoi Manga & Daryl discovers it one day. R&R


_**Author's Note**: Thought I'd give this one a try, just for my own personal amusement. __The idiom 'one for the books' means something that is unexpected, surprising._

_R&R, critiquing, praise, or even disapproval is always great to hear._

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><p><strong>One for the Books<strong>

"What the _fuck_?"

Those were the first words to come flying out of the older man's mouth when he saw them in the corner of the kid's tent, hidden underneath a ratty layer of used clothing and grimy shoes.

Daryl had never purposely meant to stumble upon them; it just _happened_ ― kind of like that awkward, scar-you-for-life moment where you mistakenly catch your parents in the act or witness a terribly gruesome car accident on the side of the road. You don't exactly _intend_ on seeing these types of things; they're just thrust into your face without giving you the slightest chance to look away.

_This_ was definitely of those moments.

It all started when the man found himself scavenging the campsite for a box of cigarettes, desperate for a smoke. Bad times tended to bring up bad habits, and his lungs ached for the burning nicotine in spite of everything else. After sifting through a couple of the other camp member's tents, only to come up empty-handed every single time, he decided that the boy's tent would be the next best option, considering that he tended to visit the pharmacy quite often and almost _always_ managed to bring back a shitload of stuff. Who's to say he didn't have a pack of Marlboros concealed somewhere in his things? To the man, it was perfectly logical to assume.

So when no one was looking, he crept into the kid's half-zipped tent, crouching down on the balls of his heels so he could quickly comb through his belongings, find what he needed, and get the hell out. The last thing he wanted was for someone else to see him there ― especially the boy. Lord knew how much drama he would ensue if he ever caught the man going through his things. He was enough on his own.

With that being said, Daryl decided the best thing to do at this point would be to check the most obvious places, because he simply didn't have enough time to ensure that every crevice of the tent was nicotine-free. It was too much of a risk on his part. Glenn was probably coming back soon, anyways.

So naturally, the backpack came first on the list of obvious places to look. Ripping it open, he dug his greedy fingers inside and started to pull out whatever objects the boy had kept in there. Toilet paper. Flashlights. Snacks. Typical ZA survival equipment. When he got to the end of the bag, he heaved a heavy sigh of discontent. _Nope, no cigarettes in here_. He loaded the things back up into the backpack and continued on ― flipping over various pillows, tossing a few things around just to see if there was anything underneath. Unfortunately, his results were the same. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

That's when he saw the mound of sweaty clothes piled up in the corner. He did nothing more than glance at it at first, only to find his eyes tugging towards one particular object poking out from a rugged-looking pair of jeans. He couldn't decipher what exactly it was, but it was white, and its shape was somewhat rectangular. _Could it be...?_

He extended his hand and reached towards it, his fingers enclosing around the object. But when he pulled his hand back, he quickly realized that he wasn't grasping onto a plain white box of Marlboros.

He was holding... a book?

And it wasn't just _any_ book, either. It was a colorful picture book; the kind of book you would typically see through the greasy windows of a mall comic book store. There was a huge title on the face of the cover, the words scribbled out in big, bold letters, surrounded by intricate designs of red and pink flowers. They outlined the glowing white background, in the center being two carefully drawn men with long, wavy hair... _Wait_. Daryl's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he focused on the drawing. Two men... with long, wavy hair... surrounded by flowers... _holding each other_...? It took him no more than two seconds to realize that this was no regular comic.

"What the _fuck_?"

He instantly dropped the book on the ground, almost as if it were plagued with sickness and had every damn intention to infect him with some chronic gay disease. His speculating eyes narrowed on the mound of clothes again; there couldn't be more, could there?

Once he peered a little closer, he groaned ―_ oh yes, there was_. About fifteen or so. To make matters even more difficult, the pile of clothes he was peering into wasn't even a pile of clothes to begin with ― it was just a _layer_ to disguise the whole stack of books that were so strategically hidden underneath.

Well,_ hell_. That clever kid had made them almost impossible to find, and somehow, Daryl had found them. Just his sick, twisted luck. His mouth gaped open and his eyes grew wide. "Holy shit..."

Following that, his face twisted up in shock and the corners of his mouth crinkled up in slight repulsion at the sight of the collection. Stacked with perfect precision, all colorful and concealed. What _were_ these things anyways? Some sort of queer comic _porn_? Why did the kid have a stash of _this _in his tent? His mind buzzed with questions; he was confused beyond a doubt. Glenn had always seemed like an odd kid, but this... this was something completely different. This was _worse_.

His eyes darted towards the dropped book, face still distorted. He had to put it back; he couldn't just leave it there. If he did, the kid would definitely find out that the man was searching through his tent. His fingers stretched and caught hold of the book, which was making him sick and confused just looking at the cover. The stupid intricate flowers; the _men_. But there was another feeling lurking, buried beneath the shock and disgust of the object he was holding in his hand.

He was _curious._ It was hard admitting, even to himself, but he was curious of what was inside. Maybe if he just... glanced? _Just one look_, he thought to himself. _It can't be all that bad, can __it_? He placed a thumb on one of the pages and slowly peeled the paper back.

Yeah... big mistake.

The first picture he saw was even worse than the cover; it was of a brawny, semi-naked man with a rosy blush, tugging at a more... er... _effeminate_ man's zipper. The effeminate man was running a hand through his long hair, looking rather aroused at the other man's touch. _Oh, Lord._ Daryl tore his gaze away, feeling the urge to yelp. Because really, it was one thing to realize the boy was reading this queer comic shit, and it was another thing completely to_ see_ it unfolding before his eyes.

A nasty thought struck him and made him fight the temptation to puke a little in his mouth. It nagged at his brain, tugged at the corners of his mind. _Jesus, what if the boy_ jerked off_ to this?_

He swallowed down hard; maybe he didn't _want_ to know the answer to that question. Feeling a bit panicky, the man shut the book as quickly as he could, shoving it back into the layer of mangled clothes he'd found it in. He didn't care about putting it back in order. He just wanted to get the _fuck_ out of there, before he became even more scarred, and more importantly, before the boy got back.

Unfortunately for the man, his vault of luck was running dry. That is, if he'd even had one from the start. Because as soon as he lifted the flap of the tent, eager to make his escape, he noticed a pair of eyes glaring at him. Familiar eyes. Concerned eyes. _Slanted_ eyes.

The kid. It was the fucking _kid_.

_Damn it_, the man thought hopelessly to himself, face growing red with embarrassment. If this wasn't humiliating, he didn't know what was. How long had he been standing there? How long had he been watching him? He was completely horrified, even more so than before.

"Um... _Daryl_?" Glenn muttered, lips barely moving. "W-what... what were you _doing_?"

Daryl averted his gaze, a combination of shame and self-disgust washing over him. His hands pulled over his head in exasperation, fingers helplessly tugging at the thick strands of hair. What was there to say? He'd been caught.

And to think, all he wanted was a damn cigarette.


End file.
